


Last Train Out To Decafville

by blankety blank (doll_revolution)



Series: Food as a Metaphor [1]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Humor, None - Freeform, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 07:23:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doll_revolution/pseuds/blankety%20blank
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why WOULD anyone drink an algae shake?  Huh?  Answer me that!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Train Out To Decafville

## Last Train Out To Decafville

by Blankety

Pet Fly and Paramount own these characters, and I do not. Make of that what you wish.

I prostrate myself at Aly's feet! I DID NOT mean to make this gen. I tell you what -- let's just pretend it's pre-slash, okay? Okay?

PG only for the language. Sigh. You think my mother would have taught me better.

* * *

Jim Ellison stumbled down the stairs from his bedroom, yawning and scratching his chest. He loved Saturday mornings, especially Saturday mornings when he didn't have to go in to work. He sniffed the air appreciatively. Mmmm..., Sandburg had made coffee! The Sentinel was in his heaven and all was right with the world. 

Blair Sandburg looked up from the corner of the couch where he was currently ensconced, wrapped up in a blanket, a plate of toast balanced on his knee. "Morning, Jim." He pushed his glasses up higher on his nose and snorted. "Dig the hair, man." 

Jim flipped him off and ran a hand over his head, but the prospect of coffee was enough to stop him from putting any real effort into the gesture. /I'm going have to talk to him about food on the couch, though. But AFTER I've had my coffee./ 

He poured a large cup, wrapped his hands around the warm mug, took a hefty swallow and sighed. Perfect! Could anything BE better than that first cup of coffee? He took another swallow and sighed, leaning against the counter. 

"Enjoying that coffee, huh, Jim?" 

"Mmmmm." 

"Just so you know-it's decaf." 

Jim choked slightly as his eyes widened. He eyed his cup warily, and then took a deep breath, inhaling the aroma. His smile returned. "Very funny, wise guy." He took another blissful sip. 

"Really, Jim, it is. I've been trying to cut back, so-" 

"You just want it for yourself. Well, nothing doing. My coffee machine, my right to drink some." 

"Jim!" Blair put a hand to his chest, looking shocked and wounded. "How can you even think such a thing? I'm trying to work my way free of an addiction, and you-" 

"You know, Chief, sometimes I think you mess with my head just to see if you CAN mess with my head." He pointed an accusing finger at Blair. "But it won't work this time! This is high-octane, super-powered, fully-caffeinated coffee!" He took another defiant swallow. 

Blair shook his head sadly. "So young, and so distrustful! What could have made you so cynical?" 

"Three years of living in Sandburgtown, that's what!" Blair opened his mouth to speak, and Jim held up his hand in a 'stop' gesture. "Ah, ah! Not another word! You're just digging yourself in deeper. I can SMELL the caffeine in the coffee, Chief. I know you're lying." 

Instead of looking interested and test-ready, as Jim had thought he would, Blair looked...apprehensive. Blair reached up and started twirling the hair behind his ear, a move that Jim had come to recognize as Blair's 'I'm nervous but acting cool' gesture. "Jim? You can smell caffeine? Um, for how long?" 

/Well, THIS is weird/ "Since forever, practically. Once you know what to, um, smell for, it's really obvious. Sort of metallic and bright.." 

"That's, that's, um, really cool, Jim," Blair said in a totally unconvincing tone of voice. He moved his eyes around the loft, fixing them suddenly on the kitchen clock. "Whoa! Look at the time! Got to book, man, I have to lead a study session at the library, like, ten minutes ago!" He was up and out of the loft in a matter of minutes, a little Sandburgian whirlwind that left no trace of its presence, except for a plate of toast, balanced precariously on the arm of the couch. 

Jim narrowed his eyes at the empty loft. Sandburg was up to something, something that would probably make Jim's life a living hell until his figured it out. He sighed. /And the day was starting out so well./ He refilled his coffee, and sat down at the kitchen table to think. 

/He wasn't happy or interested that I could smell caffeine, he was WORRIED. Why? Because maybe I could smell it where it shouldn't be?/ He thought of Blair's odd herbal tea mixtures and shuddered. /No, those are DEFINITELY decaffeinated./ He took another sip of coffee. /Maybe..., maybe he thinks that if I could smell caffeine, I could smell..., smell...what? He of all people should know what I can and can't smell! How can he be worried about it now?/ 

A little voice ran through his head. 'Ah, but you don't normally go around smelling HIS food, do you? You go out of you way to avoid it, actually, after that kelp incident.' Jim turned a wary eye to Blair's set of cupboards. Hmm. Maybe it was time to do a little reconnaissance. 

* * *

Jim didn't look up from the TV when Blair came in through the door later that evening, but he smiled to himself. Blair's heartbeat was a little elevated and the faint tang of fear hung around him. /Ha! Let the little punk suffer! I'm not going to let him off the hook that easily!/ 

He could hear Blair moving around behind him, hanging up his coat, putting away his backpack. Finally Blair stopped just behind the couch, shuffling from one foot to the other. "Um, hey Jim. Sorry I'm late, but you know, the, um-" 

"-the study group, Sandburg. I know." 

"Cool! What's for dinner, then?" 

"You tell me, Iron Chef. It's YOUR night to cook." 

"Oh! Sorry, I forgot." Blair walked around the couch to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and looked inside. "What do you have a taste for? There's some leftover pad thai; I could make some kind of asian-rice-fusion thingy." 

Jim turned off the TV. "I don't know, Chief. Maybe something a little more healthy? Like, oh, I don't know, I'm just talking off the top of my head here-something like an algae shake?" 

Blair stopped his foraging, holding himself completely still. He took a deep breath, and turned around, leaning against the counter. "So." 

"So? Is that all you have to say? You are SO busted, Sandburg!" 

Blair spread his arms. "What do you want me to say, Jim?" 

Jim walked into the kitchen. "I WANT you to tell me why you've been lying to me for three years!" 

"I didn't lie! Those shakes DO have algae in them!" 

"A pinch of algae! A tiny amount to give it color! But they're at least 90% pulverized Captain Crunch!" 

Blair shrugged. "Okay, you got me. So what?" 

"So why lie, that's what!" Jim stopped and looked faintly disgusted. "And how can you eat that, anyway? That's just nasty!" 

"I broke my jaw when I was eleven, okay? It was wired shut for about a month, and that was all Naomi could get me to eat." 

"How do you break your jaw when you're eleven?" 

"I fell off the jungle gym. I was walking on top of those hand-over-hand bars, tripped on my shoelace and... splat!" 

"Trying to impress some girl, I bet. --Hey!" Jim pointed a finger a Blair. "Stop trying to distract me!" 

Blair looked bewildered. "What the HELL are you talking about?" 

"You know what I'm talking about! That whole 'lost puppy injured Blair' thing! Well, I'm not falling for it this time!" 

Blair reached out toward Jim's head. "Are you okay, man? Is this some sense thing? Is that what this is about?" 

Jim irritably slapped away Blair's hand. "For God's sake, Sandburg! Does everything that upsets me have to be about my senses? We were TAKLING about your repulsive breakfast." 

"Look, I don't understand why you're so upset. Okay, so they're not, technically-speaking, algae shakes. But it's not like they were cocaine shakes either. So what the big deal?" 

"Sandburg, I could give a rat's ass about what you eat. You can eat hot shit on a shingle for all I care. Knock yourself out. That's not the point." 

Blair wrinkled his nose. "Jeez, Jim, that's just..., just... pleah!" 

Jim walked over to Blair until he was looming over him. "The point, Chief, is that for three years, THREE WHOLE YEARS, you've been monitoring my diet, moaning about cholesterol and the state of my arteries and the evils of Wonderburger and organic this and natural THAT, and the whole time you've been eating highly-processed, super-sugared, extremely-UNnatural food every goddamned morning!" 

"Oh." 

"'Oh' is right, Chief. But that's okay." Jim smiled. It was an evil, evil smile. "I know how you can make it up to me." He grabbed Blair by his shirt and pulled him over to the table, shoving him down into a chair. "Wait right here." 

Jim went over to the oven and pulled out a casserole dish, which he put on the table in front of Blair. "There you go, Chief. I made it just for you." 

Blair looked warily in the dish. He leaned in, took a sniff, and shuddered. "Jim, what the hell IS that?" 

"I'm hurt here, Sandburg. I thought a nature boy like yourself would recognize a tofu-turnip-carob-kelp casserole when he saw it. And look! The topping's made with real soy cheese! Swiss-like flavor." 

Blair looked at Jim with horror in his eyes. "You don't expect me to eat this, do you?" 

"Oh, but I do, Sandburg. I expect you to eat every last bite." He raised a hand to stop Blair from speaking. "Payback's a bitch, sunshine." He handed Blair a fork. "Now start eating." 

Blair looked at the fork, than at the casserole, then back at Jim. "Come on, man! Isn't this overkill? Doesn't the punishment have to FIT the crime?" 

"Ah, but that's in the United States. Right now, you're residing in Ellison Country. We have our own laws here." 

"Jim-" 

"Did I say this was a democracy? It's not. It's a benevolent dictatorship. Now eat." 

Blair ate. He protested, he pleaded, he grimaced, but eventually he ate the whole thing. And Jim was happy. Even after spending the entire night in the bathroom, holding Blair's hair as he vomited, Jim was happy. 

/Damn, I just LOVE Saturdays./ 

* * *

End Last Train Out To Decafville by Blankety: blankstreet@hotmail.com

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Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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